


Body Language

by TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Spit As Lube, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard/pseuds/TheSwingbyJeanHonoreFragonard
Summary: You don't always need words to get what you want.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Seo Changbin, Bang Chan/Seo Changbin/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Comments: 17
Kudos: 160





	Body Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blucifer/gifts), [dominho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dominho/gifts).



When Jeongin first lays eyes on Changbin, he doesn’t think the guy will be worth knowing. 

He’s hot, yeah. A little short. A little chunky. Like a beefy teddy bear or something. But Jeongin knows things won’t go farther than that. Why?

Because the first words out of Changbin’s mouth in his direction are, “Can I take your order?”

It’s 8:40 AM. It’s the peak of the morning rush hour as the work day spins up into full swing. The line in the cafe is long, full of impatient people in a hurry, and Jeongin’s still got half his commute to go before he’s late for work.

Not exactly the easiest circumstance to engage in mind-stimulating conversation. 

So Jeongin tosses his flirtatious intentions aside and simply tells the guy his order and hands him exact change when prompted because he’s been coming here often enough to have the cost of his favorite drink memorized. Fully prepared to take his money elsewhere if they ever jack up the price.

But even in a moment that should be transient at best, those sixteen seconds stick out in Jeongin’s mind. This brain calls out to him and demands he think of this as _ important _ .

The brush of Jeongin’s fingers against Changbin’s palm as the cash is passed from hand to hand. 

The tiny little burst of floral perfume Jeongin catches cutting through the deep, earthy scent of coffee. 

The smile Changbin aims in Jeongin’s direction, bright and twinkling like he knows something cool that Jeongin doesn’t know. 

The glint of his nametag beneath the glaring fluorescent lights.

Jeongin can’t help but say, “You’re new.” Because he surely would have noticed a face like that around here.

“I’m a transfer,” Changbin tells him airily. Like he’s used to deflecting weird comments from overly-familiar customers. And then, in the next breath, he looks away from Jeongin and shouts into the din, “I can help who's next.”

A man in a sharply-tailored, shark gray suit approaches the counter and not-so-subtly elbows Jeongin out of the way as he calls out his own order. Some ridiculously pretentious blend of chocolate and soy milk and two shots of this and an extra shot of that and whipped cream.  _ And make it snappy _ .

Changbin’s not even looking at him anymore. Not even considering him. Jeongin takes the hint. 

There’s no cute, drama-worthy scene happening here. The moment is over. Lost. 

He shuffles off to the side and waits for his drink.

֍

Jeongin usually doesn’t get crushes. Not since Felix broke his heart right after graduation. Not since Seungmin moved away for a higher-paying job. Not since Jisung reminded him that their arrangements had  _ no strings attached _ . Besides, Jeongin likes to think he’s a bit too busy these days for such distracting, hormonal behavior. He’s aiming for a raise by the end of the year and now that Wonjin and Minhee have been brought in, he’s no longer the newbie and he’s finally got someone to bring  _ him _ freshly-steeped tea and print out copies of  _ his  _ files.

But a crush must be what he’s experiencing. There’s no other explanation.

He sees Changbin at the coffee shop counter two more times that week and both encounters are just as sterile and brief as the first.

All the cute coffee shop romances he’s read online had painted a false image in his head. None of those authors seemed to take into account that coffee shops are busy, crowded, and  _ noisy _ . None of those stories accounted for the fact that coffee shop employees are perpetually annoyed, are always under strict time constraints and show visible agitation towards any attempt at small talk.

Jeongin doesn’t stop thinking about Changbin, though.

When he’s at home, he daydreams about what Changbin’s body must look like beneath his form-fitting work shirt.

Even when he’s at work, sitting at his desk, his mind wanders to Changbin. He thinks about how Changbin’s deep, rough cement-slab of a voice doesn’t really fit his soft, round face. Yet, at the same time, it does.

It’s a voice that stands out. A voice that immediately triggers a verbal response in Jeongin. 

That’s why he feels utterly, totally humiliated one day when he hears Changbin say, “What should I get for you?” and Jeongin instinctively recites, “An iced Americano to go.”

Because in the awkward silence that follows, it dawns on Jeongin that he’s not in line at the coffee shop at all. He’s in the middle of a bookstore during the weekend rush. And Changbin wasn’t talking to him but to some guy standing next to him in the mystery aisle.

Jeongin curses his stupid mouth. Wishes for a hole to open up beneath his shoes and swallow him up.

Changbin slowly turns towards Jeongin standing behind him, an eyebrow raised in total confusion. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

A punch to the mouth would have hurt less.

The guy next to Changbin, handsome in his own right, signs something to Changbin who frantically signs something back. They go back and forth. The loudest yet quietest conversation Jeongin’s ever witnessed.

“Hey,” Jeongin speaks up, worried. Anxious. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I was just passing through and heard your voice and--” The words die on the tip of his tongue.

Changbin looks up at him. He looks so different off of the clock. He’s put effort into his appearance. His hair is cutely curled and he sports a hint of eyeliner. His outfit is nicely put-together and stylish, a far cry from the dismal uniform Jeongin’s used to. Changbin says, “I guess you’re a regular at the shop, huh?” But his tone is not accusatory. In fact, he looks amused.

Jeongin swallows his nerves. His tongue is suddenly as dry as cotton in his mouth. What a terrible reminder that Jeongin is just another nearly-anonymous customer in this underpaid laborer’s eyes. A single sheep in a massive, homogenous herd. “I didn’t mean to bother you on your day off,” Jeongin mumbles. His face feels hot. He knows he’s making a fool of himself. He should go. “I should--” It takes him a moment to even remember why he came to the bookstore to begin with. What he’d come down this aisle to get. “I should go.” 

He’s about to beat a hasty retreat when the guy Changbin is here with steps forward a little, just slightly into Jeongin’s way, and regards him with narrowed eyes. Looks him up and down. Like he’s assessing what he sees. His hair is on the shorter side. Dyed a deep, rich burgundy. His face is sharp and striking and such features would probably be intimidating if his eyes weren’t so kind and his smile weren’t so warm. Judgement rendered, he turns towards Changbin and signs something that makes Changbin throw his head back and cackle like he’s just heard the best joke in the world.

Jeongin gulps. Is he being made fun of? He can’t even  _ tell  _ because he doesn’t know sign language! “What did he say,” he asks, a little upset that he can’t participate in their conversation.

But Changbin ignores him in favor of signing something back to the man.

They go back and forth, rapidly. Interrupting each other with slaps on the wrists.

Now they are both snickering and Jeongin properly feels left out.

Changbin gets a handle on his giggles and clears his throat. He reaches out and grips Jeongin by the arm to keep him from walking away. “My boyfriend Chan wants to make out with you. Is that okay?”

And Jeongin’s pretty sure that there is a word in there that doesn't belong. “Your boyfriend?”

Changbin goes, “Yeah,” and waves a hand in the deaf guy’s direction. “He’s up for it, Jeongin. Are you?”

Jeongin turns the question right back at him. “Are  _ you _ ?”

Changbin snorts. “Would I have relayed the message if I wasn’t?”

Five seconds late, something clicks. “Wait. You know my name?”

“Hello? You have to give it to me every time I take your order.”

“Right. Right, there’s that.” Jeongin turns away from Changbin to look over at Chan, who watches his face so intently. Who stares at every single twitch and movement of his lips. Perhaps he’s reading what Jeongin is saying. Jeongin says, “Your boyfriend.” Apparently, Chan and Changbin are dating but that doesn’t seem to be stopping what’s happening here. Jeongin’s not sure what he’s done in the past couple of days to end up in a situation like this but, hell, who cares? “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll give it a go.” 

Jeongin is the one who leans in first but Chan eagerly meets him halfway. Chan grips him by the back of the neck, digs his nails in and pulls Jeongin close. Their mouths sloppily collide and Jeongin gasps against Chan’s mouth because the guy’s tongue is already pressing past his teeth and into his mouth, sliding hotly against his own tongue. 

The kiss is rough. Eager. Like Chan’s taking Jeongin out for a test drive. Trying to see how fast he goes from 0 to 60.

It feels weird to kiss a stranger. But it’s also exhilarating. Thrilling. Like this is the game-breaking reward for putting in some kind of secret cheat code.

Jeongin’s eyes drift shut as he inhales Chan’s strong, overbearingly masculine scent. Probably some 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner and body wash with a stupid, testosterone-fueled marketing name like  _ Predator _ .

Jeongin pulls back. Breathless. A little dizzy. And only vaguely aware that they are in the middle of an aisle in a crowded, noisy bookstore. He opens his eyes and blinks against the sterile, all-seeing brightness of the building’s fluorescent lights.

Chan touches a finger to his lips. Gently. Like he doesn’t want to wipe the taste of Jeongin away. 

“Fuck,” Changbin hisses and Jeongin startles because he’s already forgotten that the guy is standing there, probably watching every second. “Now I wanna make out with you.”

So Jeongin half-turns and steps forward. He reaches up both hands, possessively grips Changbin by the jaw and kisses him. It’s probably the bravest thing he’s ever done.

Changbin responds immediately. His lips part around a moan that’s definitely too loud and too lewd for where they are but it’s that exact same explicitness that makes Jeongin push his tongue into Changbin’s mouth. Changbin tilts his head and deepens the kiss, pushing back like this is a fight he won’t lose. He tastes sweet and his lips are pillowy soft and slick with too much chapstick. 

It tastes like cherries and Jeongin swallows it down.

Changbin’s fist curls into the front of Jeongin’s shirt. He pulls. No, he  _ holds on _ like his legs are about to give and Jeongin’s solid frame is all that’s holding him up.

Abruptly, Jeongin pulls away. Changbin chases after his mouth, moaning, before coming to his senses and stepping back.

Chan touches Changbin’s shoulder and they face each other. Chan makes a movement with his hand.

Changbin signs something back to him. Quick, sweeping movements of his arms and surprisingly delicate fingers.

Chan signs something in return. His lips curl back in a bitten-off giggle.

Changbin’s eyes light up. His mouth drops open in surprise. He signs something else.

Chan grins. His cheeks go red. He signs something else that makes Changbin full-belly laugh.

Jeongin pouts. They’re clearly making fun of him! Rating him terribly low on a scale of one to ten. He’s probably a bad kisser. He knows it’s been a few months, but damn! Could they at least save their snickering and the obvious swing of their eyes in his direction for when he’s out of earshot? Embarrassed, he’s about to excuse himself and Google a replacement coffee shop to stop at on weekday mornings when Changbin puts his hand on Jeongin’s elbow.

“You busy,” the guy asks.

Jeongin really should be making himself scarce but he says, “No. Why?”

It’s Chan who steps forward, looks him in the eye and carefully enunciates, “Want to come back to our place?”

֍

Jeongin hasn’t hooked up with anyone since Minho from the editing department. A fling they had both decided was best as a one-and-done thing, seeing as Minho was his supervisor and all. 

In other words, as Jeongin follows Changbin and Chan a block and a half west to their apartment building on the far edge of the district, his heart pounds in his chest with anticipation. As Changbin chats with him and leads him by the arm across the parking lot and into the tiled lobby, Jeongin’s stomach tries to crawl up his throat like he’s a virgin in high school fumbling around in a spare bedroom at someone’s house party all over again. As Chan and Changbin stand on either side of him in the elevator, nervous sweat makes him pit out his shirt as he realizes, half an hour into all of this, that he’s about to have them  _ both _ .

In the tenth floor hallway, Chan punches in the code and pushes open the door.

For the first time since they left the bookstore, silence falls over them. They all take a few seconds to peel out of their shoes and then Changbin leads the way into the living room.

Jeongin looks around, slightly amazed.

It’s not a luxurious apartment by any means but the place is decorated with meaning and intention unlike Jeongin’s barely-furnished spot uptown. 

It’s an artist’s haven, he realizes. Most of the furniture in the living room has been shoved against the walls to make room for a massive tarp on the floor. There are numerous easels holding up canvases with colorful, abstract works in various states of completion. Tools line the floor. Brushes. Can of spray paint. Hundreds of tubes of acrylic. Paint-stained aprons. 

A bookcase in the corner has shelves that literally sag beneath the weight of art history books and anatomy books and artist biographies and Bob Ross DVDs. There’s a turntable setup on a side table and surrounding it are crates and crates full of vintage vinyls. 

The place looks comfortable. Warm. Lived-in.

But they aren’t here to hang out and watch movies.

Chan puts his hand under Jeongin’s chin to make them face each other. He leans forward and mutters, “Mine.”

But the look in his eyes makes it hard for Jeongin to determine if Chan is talking about all of the paintings and records or  _ him _ .

Changbin makes the distinction clear. “Do you wanna fuck around on the couch?”

Jeongin can practically feel the steam come out of his ears. God, he’s so ready. “Yeah. Let’s.”

Changbin giggles and tugs Jeongin to the other side of the living room, warning him away from the tubes of paint and cups of dirtied water on the floor. Chan follows up behind. He slips his hands beneath Jeongin’s shirt and runs them over Jeongin’s bare skin like he already can’t get enough. Soon as Jeongin has been pushed onto the couch, Changbin is crawling into his lap, settling his compact body across Jeongin’s lean thighs.

“Oh,” Jeongin gasps out. 

He thought there’d be a bit more build up. But he’s fine with this. He’s fine with diving right in. His hands settle around Changbin’s waist as Changbin leans forward and kisses him. 

Back in the bookstore, their kiss had been all speed and force, like they’d never get another chance. But now, Changbin kisses slowly. He slots their lips together like puzzle pieces and gently moans against Jeongin’s mouth.

Their hands explore.

Jeongin slips his fingers beneath Changbin’s shirt and drags them along the groove of Changbin’s spine, coaxing a moan out of him.

In return, Changbin’s hand claws at Jeongin’s chest. Climbs up to tentatively squeeze around his throat.

Jeongin parts his lips and gasps at the unfamiliar pressure and Changbin takes advantage by threading his tongue into Jeongin’s mouth. They tilt their heads and crash together at the new angle.

Changbin’s hand releases his throat and trails down Jeongin’s chest, down his stomach. And when his palm dips low and kneads into Jeongin’s groin, Jeongin breaks the kiss and gasps because he hadn’t even noticed he was so hard in his pants already. Just from this.

Changbin chuckles. A low, raspy noise in the back of his throat. He kisses Jeongin’s mouth again. Criminally light. Teasing. Jeongin bucks his hips up against Changbin’s groping hand and whines when the pressure is just shy of  _ enough _ . “Easy,” Changbin chastises. “Both of us haven’t had a turn yet.” And then he rolls off of Jeongin to sit next to him on the couch.

Jeongin sits there. Stunned. Dazed. But then Chan is straddling his legs next.

Chan is heavier than Changbin. Taller. Wider. More solidly built. And in the moments Jeongin hadn’t been looking at him, he had taken his shirt off.

Jeongin gazes at the man’s muscles in awe. At their thickness and shape. At the pockmarks and scars that dot his milky skin. There’s a tattoo on Chan’s ribcage. A small little butterfly. And the silver necklace he wears dangles between his pecs. Jeongin reaches up a hand and plants it across the center of Chan’s chest just to better feel the heat he gives off.

Chan doesn’t kiss him. Not immediately. He sits across Jeongin’s lap and slowly rotates his hips, grinding down against Jeongin’s erection.

Jeongin’s face tenses. He bites his tongue to hold off a moan. Only to moan anyway when Chan slips a hand under his shirt and drags a finger across his nipple.

Chan watches him so intently. Taking in every eyelid twitch. The shape of Jeongin’s mouth around every moan. The crinkle of his nose as he inhales.

Suddenly, Changbin’s mouth is at Jeongin’s neck. He kisses lightly. Then he licks and licks before gently biting at the meat of Jeongin’s throat. Only to lick and kiss again as if in apology. “Chan loves to listen to music,” he murmurs into Jeongin’s skin. “He can’t hear it. But he can feel the vibrations of it, even if he has to turn the volume up enough to piss off the neighbors.”

Jeongin questions the purpose behind the anecdote. He almost lets it distract him from Chan’s weight in his lap.

Then Changbin adds, “So be loud. That way he can feel you.”

And Jeongin doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t mean to obey so readily. He throws his head back and groans as Chan grinds against him.

Changbin snickers in his ear before pulling away.

Jeongin can’t hold himself back anymore. His hands trail up Chan’s muscular thighs before slipping around his waist and grabbing two big handfuls of Chan’s firm ass. God, what a great ass! It fits into palms nicely and he can feel the lovely tension of muscles even through Chan’s jeans. He squeezes that ass hard and tries to coax Chan’s hips into a faster tempo against his crotch.

Chan eagerly obeys, shifting a little, spreading his knees a bit farther, so that it’s easier for him to rut against Jeongin’s front.

Music starts to play.

At first, Jeongin thinks he’s imagining it, then he blinks open eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed to see Changbin on the other side of the room, next to the turntable.

Jeongin looks up at Chan.

The man stares down at him intently, eyes raking over his face as if to take in every movement of muscle.

At first, it feels strange to be so openly scrutinized, but then Jeongin finds it kind of hot.

Chan can’t hear him the same way Jeongin can hear so  _ of course _ Chan would check for Jeongin’s pleasure in other ways. Not in Jeongin’s high-pitched whimpering as Chan rocks against him, but in the tilt of his head and in the flush of his face and in the swipe of his tongue across his lips.

“How do I tell him what I want,” Jeongin exhales shakily, feeling stretched thin already. “I can’t talk to him like you can.”

“You don’t always have to speak to communicate,” Changbin says from right next to him on the couch.

Jeongin turns his head. Changbin’s stripped out of his khaki pants in the last few moments and his hands drag up and down the bulge beneath his colorful underwear.

Changbin instructs, “Use your body to talk.”

So Jeongin does just that. He looks up at Chan, he lets go of that glorious, magnificent ass to drag his hands upward and still Chan’s hips. Then he sits up off the back of the couch to kiss him.

Unlike the last time in the bookstore, Chan lets him take control this time. Lets Jeongin be the one to slot his tongue into Chan’s mouth, seeking, as they kiss. 

Jeongin starts slow. Languid, almost. Spending those first few seconds memorizing the feel of Chan’s rough tongue. The taste of his mouth. The heat of his breath. Then he picks up the pace, the heat. He uses his hands on Chan’s waist to guide their torsos closer, to push Chan’s ass down against his crotch.

Chan moans into his mouth. Loud. Bitchy. In a higher octave than Jeongin would have expected.

“Hey,” Changbin’s voice cuts through the air. “Don’t forget me. I’m here too.”

Jeongin breaks the kiss and slumps backwards onto the couch cushions. The adrenaline sizzles in his veins. Makes the tips of his fingers numb. It doesn’t help matters when he turns his head to the side and sees that Changbin’s peeled out of his shirt. He gets up on his knees on the couch cushions and pouts from the neglect.

Jeongin tilts his head back. He parts his mouth.

Changbin accepts the invitation. He crawls forward and crashes their lips together. There’s no slow burn. He’s an inferno right from the get go, clawing at Jeongin’s shirt, tugging at his hair.

Chan shifts and rolls off of Jeongin’s lap. But only to give him the space to unbutton Jeongin’s pants and start tugging them off.

Jeongin can hardly do it. He can hardly keep up with Changbin’s tongue in his mouth while also lifting his hips to help Chan get his pants off. But he manages.

Changbin nips at Jeongin’s bottom lip, tugging a little. Jeongin moans at the sudden pain. His lips fall open which seems to give Changbin the permission to lick into his mouth.

“Look, Bin,” Chan rasps out.

Their kiss breaks. Both of them turn their heads to Chan, kneeling on the floor between Jeongin’s spread knees. 

Chan runs a finger up the shape of Jeongin’s dick through his underwear. Then he pauses at the head, where Jeongin’s precum has noticeably darkened the material.

Jeongin struggles to breathe. Struggles to suck air into his lungs as his heart hammers away at his chest. As his mind fills with white noise at the sight of Chan between his legs, hovering over his crotch.

Something in his expression must amuse Chan because the man grins, full of mischief. 

He reaches up with both hands, grips the waistband of Jeongin’s underwear and unceremoniously yanks them down. Jeongin lifts his hips up and then stretches out his legs to help Chan undress him. Jeongin thinks that his underwear will be chucked aside. Discarded. Forgotten about until they’ve all cum and it’s time for him to leave. But Chan is full of surprises. He twists Jeongin’s underwear inside out and then swipes his fat tongue through the sticky, clear globs of precum in the front.

The sight turns Jeongin on more than he thought it would and he nearly shrieks when Changbin wraps his fingers tight around his dick.

Chan moans. With one hand pressing Jeongin’s underwear into his mouth, he clumsily signs to Changbin with the other.

Changbin looks up at Jeongin. “He says you taste good.”

Jeongin falls apart a little. He whimpers as Changbin strokes him teasingly slow. His ears ring a little as the next song starts playing. Something from the 80s. The sound is warm and fuzzy through the turntable’s speakers.

Changbin tilts forward and kisses at Jeongin’s mouth, though it’s hard for them to properly align their mouths since Jeongin whines and pants as Changbin jerks him off.

Then there’s a sudden warmth around the head of his dick. Jeongin lurches. Sucks in air so hard he half-chokes. He looks down and watches as Chan’s tongue circles his head before those pretty pink lips snap closed around it.

For a few seconds, the two of them fight over him. Changbin wants to jerk Jeongin slowly while Chan wants to swiftly fist the length of it that’s not in his mouth. 

Jeongin sucks on the back of his teeth as their clashing rhythms burn mildly unpleasant friction into his skin.

Wordlessly, Changbin concedes. He draws his hand back and moves it to the bulge in his own underwear, squeezing at the curved shape.

Chan pulls off Jeongin’s dick with a wet pop, spits crudely into his hand and smears the moisture up Jeongin’s shaft. It takes him a few tries to generously coat it in wetness but Jeongin appreciates the slickness as the burn of friction eases and gives way to simmering pleasure. Jeongin throws his head back, props his elbows up on the back of the couch. He shuts his eyes and falls forward into the feeling of Chan’s throat around his dick, the movements fast and precise. Skilled. 

He’s nowhere close to cumming when Chan noisily pulls off his dick. Jeongin opens his eyes and frowns down at Chan as the man wipes saliva and precum from his mouth. Then he pisses Jeongin off more by standing up and abandoning his crotch altogether.

He doesn’t stay mad long. His lap is vacant for mere seconds before Changbin swings a leg over and clambers on top of him. Greedy. Needy.

They go straight into making out.

No pretense. No time to catch breaths.

Changbin’s  _ determined _ now and his tongue dances across Jeongin’s teeth as his arms snake around Jeongin’s neck.

Jeongin can’t help but hold him. Touch him. His skin is hot and a little rough beneath Jeongin’s roaming hands. His nipples are hard, pert, and every time Jeongin flicks at one or the other, Changbin whimpers and gently bites at Jeongin’s tongue. Jeongin’s hand slips lower and cups Changbin’s ass through the silk of his underwear. It’s not as fat as Chan’s. Not as hard and taut as Chan’s. But it’s bouncy. Squishy. And Jeongin grabs at it like his life depends on it, guiding it along the length of his aching, neglected dick.

Jeongin opens his eyes and looks past Changbin’s head to see Chan standing there. Leaning in. Watching. He’s peeled out of his pants now and runs both of his hands up and down his torso. On the way up, his fingers rub circles around his nipples. On the way down, his hands clutch at his balls through his briefs.

Jeongin wonders if he’s doing a good job. If he’s putting on a decent enough show grinding against someone else’s boyfriend. 

He redoubles his efforts. He kisses Changbin harder, more aggressively, and fucks his hips upward so the head of his dick slides between the silk-clad mounds of Changbin’s round ass. He feels his balls tighten with pleasure and full-body shudders, moans against Changbin’s wet lips.

Changbin’s had enough of this. He breaks the kiss. But only to grab the collar of Jeongin’s shirt and nearly tear it down the neck in his desire to get the cotton over Jeongin’s head.

Jeongin’s entirely naked now. In nothing but his socks with two hot strangers hovering over him. The air in the apartment is a little cool to fight off the summer heat outdoors. But that just means Jeongin more clearly feels Changbin’s skin against his. He more clearly feels Chan’s breath on his arm as the man sits on the couch next to them.

All of Jeongin’s senses are at max capacity. His brain buzzes from the overload. 

But he loves the feeling. 

Loves being able to smell not just the paint thinner in the air but the herbal-smelling deodorant Changbin uses and the salty scent of the sweat on his skin. 

He loves being able to see the muscles beneath Changbin’s skin tighten and relax as he moves. As he rolls off of Jeongin’s lap and yanks his own underwear off like the material personally offended him.

In seconds, Changbin is stripped bare and Jeongin looks him up and down, up and down, and drinks his fill. Changbin is thick, muscular, but his body holds more rounded edges than Chan’s. Like he hasn’t worked out in a while.

Jeongin tears his eyes off of Changbin to look at Chan instead. He’s naked now, too, a hand wrapped tight around the base of his leaking dick.

It feels good. All this skin on skin. All of this friction. All of this heat boxing him in from both sides. Jeongin’s really only marginally aware that there are hands on him. Mouths on him. Tongues on him. Hot and warm and mildly wet. There’s a dick swinging near his face. Low-hanging balls and a sharp, upward curve. Jeongin acknowledges that it’s Changbin’s before he tilts forward and sucks the head into his mouth. The angle is bad so he can’t get much of it in his mouth but he laps at what he can hungrily. Slurping. Licking. Sucking. He reaches up a hand, grips Changbin’s dick tight around the base and strokes upward until his fingers brush against his lips.

He hasn’t sucked dick in a while but he’s still good at it based on how Changbin chants “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

Jeongin shifts a bit on the couch, if only to feed a bit more of Changbin’s dick down his throat. The skin is salty and the smell is natural, musty. Jeongin breathes it in as he wraps his mouth tight around the shaft and  _ sucks _ .

There’s a hand on his own dick now and he knows without looking that it’s Chan’s.

Chan doesn’t jerk him off to please him. He does it to tease. To explore. His grip far too loose and his pace far too slow to wring out an orgasm. But Jeongin rocks his hips forward into Chan’s fist regardless and moans around the dick in his mouth as Chan gently scrapes his nails under Jeongin’s balls.

Jeongin must have been too caught up to notice that Chan and Changbin had been signing something over his head. Changbin slides his dick out of Jeongin’s mouth. Chan unhands his dick. They reposition him. Help sit him up. Get him on his hands and knees on the couch cushions.

Chan settles his weight on the armrest of the couch, spreads his knees. Then he puts a hand on the back of Jeongin’s neck and guides him down, down, down. Until Jeongin opens his mouth and swallows his dick. Until it pushes into the back of his throat.

Behind him, Changbin runs his smooth hands down Jeongin’s spine in rhythmic, massaging movements, guiding Jeongin to relax. Then he slaps Jeongin’s ass so fiercely that Jeongin gags on Chan’s dick. Coughs up spit.

Chan barely gives him a moment to catch his breath before he’s pushing his dick back into Jeongin’s throat. Needing more.

On the other end, Changbin’s fingers dance lightly across Jeongin’s hole, wet with spit. 

Teasing, at first, with light little swipes and circular motions and the occasional swipe of his tongue. Then his movements fill with intention. His tongue lavishes moisture onto Jeongin’s hole and then he pushes in a finger, slides it in a knuckle-deep. 

The intrusion isn’t unfamiliar but it’s been a while. The touch ignites Jeongin’s nerves. Makes him squeeze his eyes shut.

Chan is unforgiving. He grips Jeongin’s hair a little harder as if to remind him to keep slurping at his dick. Jeongin obeys, bobbing up and down faster and faster and swallowing the bitter taste of Chan’s precum.

Changbin presses his finger deeper into Jeongin’s hole. Slowly. Then he pulls it out, eases the slide with a fresh wad of spit and then works in two fingers. Fast. Impatient.

All of Jeongin’s nerves are alight with sensation. With pleasure. And he rocks his hips back onto Changbin’s fingers, moaning as the man works him open from one end while Chan thrusts into his mouth from the other end.

He tries to wrap a hand around his own aching dick but a few hasty strokes later and he abandons the task, too fearful of the tingles settling in his balls. Too cognizant of the very real fear of cumming early.

Every part of Jeongin’s skin tingles with anticipation. Fuck, he wants this. Wants it bad. He moans around Chan’s cock in his mouth as Changbin crooks a finger up his ass and just barely grazes his prostate. Chan’s hand leaves his hair, drags across his temple and stuffed-full cheeks before loosely wrapping around Jeongin’s throat as if he wants to feel himself as he pushes his dick deep.

Jeongin’s mind is split between the burn of Changbin’s fingers stretching his rim and Chan’s dick knocking at his gag reflex. Jeongin likes it, though. Likes being in the middle like this. Likes being overwhelmed.

Chan must not like it, though. “You give shit head,” he announces loudly, the syllables dragging only slightly. He tugs on Jeongin’s hair again, pulling him off of his spit-soaked dick. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He looks over Jeongin’s head and signs something to Changbin.

In less than a breath, Changbin’s fingers slide free of Jeongin’s hole. Almost too fast. Leaving Jeongin clenching around nothing, shivering from the loss of friction and heat. Moaning like a desperate bitch.

Changbin doesn’t leave him alone for long, though. His hands drag up Jeongin’s sides, almost tickling at his ribs, before his muscular arms wrap around Jeongin’s chest, around his shoulders. Like a wrestling move. Changbin pulls him back, back, back. To the other end of the couch. Jeongin’s spine presses flat against Changbin’s torso as they both shift and rock to get their legs out from under them. Soon, Jeongin’s squatting over Changbin’s body, sinking down onto Changbin’s wide dick. 

It hurts. But only in the best of ways. 

The burning turns to delightful tingling as Changbin pushes Jeongin’s weight up with surprising strength before pulling his hips back down. His dick sinks further up into Jeongin’s ass. 

It’s a tight fit. Like a glove. And Jeongin’s so on edge, so sensitive, that he’s positive he’ll cum the second Changbin bottoms out. But there’s only wonder and comfort when his ass meets Changbin’s hips. When he has all of Changbin’s dick in him. And he’s further amazed when Chan leans forward, grips his dick by the base and swallows him down.

It is a miracle he doesn’t instantly bust down Chan’s throat.

With their positions settled, they all begin to move in earnest. Changbin bends his legs at the knee, digs his fingers into Jeongin’s hip bones and rocks up into his hole while Jeongin does his best to swivel his hips and meet those crooked, shaky thrusts. 

And Chan is there, kneeling between Jeongin’s legs, to stroke him and suck him and tease him.

God. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d show Jeongin how it was done. Chan’s dick had some girth to it that Jeongin wasn’t used to but Chan expertly handled Jeongin’s above-average length. There was this way Chan incorporated his tongue into it. Smooth, almost milking motions as his tongue massaged the veins along the shaft. Each time Chan pulled off of it for some air, he swirled his tongue across the slit, working an all new series of moans out of Jeongin’s mouth.

Beneath him, Changbin nips at Jeongin’s neck. Gently bites into his shoulder. His hands hoist Jeongin up and guide him back down onto his dick. Fast. Frantic.

Jeongin relaxes. Fully relaxes. 

When he does, the pleasure mounts and mounts. 

He feels it in his soul every time Chan’s throat constricts around the head of his dick. He feels it when Changbin grabs his ass cheeks, pulls the globes of muscles apart and fucks just a little deeper up into him. Jeongin drops his head onto Changbin’s shoulder and arches his back to make it easier for the man to fuck into him. He almost feels smothered. Constricted. Like he’s bound in rope. That’s how tightly wrapped in Changbin’s bulky arms he is. That’s how little he can move with Chan’s fingers digging into his calves. 

Jeongin’s hands reach out and blindly grope at the couch cushion, at Chan’s hair, at Changbin’s knees. Anywhere he can grab hold of something as he’s railed.

He doesn’t care that he’s moaning. That he’s practically shouting. 

He doesn’t care that the music playing is no longer loud enough to disguise his pleasure.

And when Changbin raises a hand and tilts his head, Jeongin gives in and kisses him readily, eyes squeezed shut as his body is wrung dry. 

They work him like that for a while. 

True to his word, Chan is a master at his craft. He purposefully drags Jeongin towards the edge and seems to instinctively know when to back off and stay off until Jeongin’s ready again. His tongue and lips and hands work as a magnificent team as they milk Jeongin for all he’s worth.

And Changbin’s dick works wonders as well. Fat around the middle but a little slimmer around the head, Jeongin feels it every time Changbin pulls out and slams back in. The spit on his hole and on Changbin’s dick have long since dried and the stretch makes Jeongin pant and squirm and writhe. But the burn is good. The painful pleasure makes stars dance across his eyes.

Chan must be far more observant than Jeongin would have figured. The man presses his face in close to Jeongin’s crotch and he spits one, two, three wads of brand new dampness across the shaft of Changbin’s dick to ease the slide.

Changbin’s movements slow. He’s a gasping, heaving mess beneath Jeongin’s weight.

Jeongin blinks open his eyes. He’s face to face with Chan who honestly looks like he could cum just from the look on Jeongin’s face alone. 

“Why’d you stop,” Jeongin asks Changbin.

But it’s Chan who answers, “This okay?”

Jeongin follows the direction of his pointed finger.

Chan’s got his dick in his hand, sitting up on his knees between Jeongin’s bent legs.

“Fuck yeah,” Jeongin wheezes out.

Chan must be able to see Jeongin’s enthusiasm clear as day because he chuckles. He brings his face close to Jeongin’s, gets a real good look at his fucked-out expression. “Changbin’s got such good tastes.” And then he lines his dick up and  _ pushes in _ . Even with Changbin already inside, stretching Jeongin wide. There’s nothing but resistance at first, even as Jeongin makes himself relax. He can feel the head of Chan’s dick at his rim, unmoving, but it doesn’t take much more force from Chan’s hips for Jeongin’s hole to stretch wider. To give in. To allow Chan to fuck his dick inside.

Jeongin cries out at the stretch. As the pleasure shatters and is replaced by discomfort. And then pain. Then he shouts all over again as the pain twists and morphs and transforms back into pleasure.

From beneath him, Changbin kisses Jeongin’s jaw repeatedly, as if such softness is in apology for the burn that sparks across Jeongin’s nerves as he’s stuffed full.

Chan kisses him too. His Adam’s apple. His chin. His mouth. His hands are so gentle even as he presses down on Jeongin’s chest to hold him still.

Jeongin stares up at the ceiling. Tiny little stars dot his vision. Tingles race through his body and he curls his toes and shivers in response. He feels like he’s being ripped apart. He feels like he’s about to cum right then and there, making a mess of everything, but he holds himself together. He relaxes and grits his teeth and moans as Chan drags his hips back, slowly slowly slowly, pulling out of the tightness and heat he just worked so hard to get into, before slamming forward.

Jeongin closes his eyes and groans from the depths of his chest. 

God. They’re  _ both _ in him, he realizes. Changbin  _ and _ Chan. Both of their dicks are buried in him. Taking up all the space in him.

It’s funny how his brain provides him such a thought so late in the process. When Changbin’s already got his hands under Jeongin’s knees, propping him up and spreading him wide. When Chan’s muttering curses as he pushes in again and again.

Body language is so important, Jeongin thinks. Because how else would Chan have known he’d fucked his dick in  _ just so _ and hit the right spot? Jeongin didn’t have the words but he still had his voice: a high-pitched mewl that echoed off the walls. He still had his body: an arched back, clenched fists, curled toes, a leaking dick.

“I wanted you both to fuck me,” Changbin admits, so hoarse and breathless that Jeongin can hardly understand him. “But you make such pretty faces, Jeongin. I couldn’t miss out.”

“Pretty,” Chan repeats confidently. And then he presses a kiss to the corner of Jeongin’s open, panting mouth.

With the position, with the added weight, Changbin can’t move much. Can’t fuck up into him too fast. But that doesn’t stop him from trying. He wriggles under Jeongin, twisting and thrusting, trying to keep pace with Chan’s uptempo thrusts.

The pleasure is maddening. Not only is there the wicked stretch at Jeongin’s rim, there’s the wild, fire-starting friction in his gut as Chan and Changbin rut not just into him but against each other.

Jeongin’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

Chan’s dick is so much fatter around, he imagines. The size of it burns at his entrance and drags heat across his prostate. But Changbin may be a little longer. Just a tad. Enough to get Jeongin feeling like he’s being properly filled. 

“Fuck,” Jeongin grunts. And since once is nowhere near enough, he keeps going. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, fuck. Fuck!” Because there’s only so long he can withstand the duel between two dicks before his own calls it quits. 

His balls tighten. His spine goes rigid. His muscles snatch tight around the girth both dicks crammed deep in him and his orgasm approaches on a wave of hazy light. Jeongin never even really touched it, hardly had the mental capacity to do so, but that doesn’t stop his dick from twitching. It doesn’t stop him from tumbling over the edge. Finally.

He cums. Pulse after pulse of hot, sticky white lands across his heaving belly and his nerves absolutely  _ fry _ . 

The sight of his face alone must be enough for Chan. The draws his hips back, pulls his dick free of Jeongin’s hole and then he leans over Jeongin, grips his dick in a hand. Pumps it hard and fast, his fingers a blur, until he grunts and spills, adding thick coils of cum to the mess that’s already splattered across Jeongin’s chest.

Jeongin couldn’t help but watch him the whole time, not wanting to miss a twitch of muscle, a flutter of an eyelash. Chan’s face turns  _ red _ when he cums. Like his body just gets that hot. Like that much blood rushes through his system.

And it’s beautiful.

But that’s not the end of things.

Chan doesn’t even give himself time to recover. He stands up off the couch, thin strands of cum still dangling and dripping from the slit of his dick. He props a knee on the couch cushion near Jeongin’s head, his hands proudly on his hips.

Body language.

Chan doesn’t have to speak for Jeongin to hear him.

He lifts up off of Changbin’s chest and slurps Chan’s dick into his mouth. Jeongin mainly tastes Chan’s cum. A little tangy, like he ate a lot of fruit today. Jeongin licks him clean. Licks and slurps until Chan goes soft in his mouth and finally pulls away.

The aftershocks of Jeongin’s orgasm still rip through him. Still make him shudder and twitch. His ass tightens hard and he’s reminded in a white-hot way that Changbin’s still plugged deep inside him, fucking into him, the head of his dick dragging across oversensitive nerves. Jeongin whimpers, “I don’t want it to stop.”

Now that Chan’s stepped back, Changbin lifts them both up, twists and turns and repositions, until Jeongin’s on his back, shoulder blades pressed into the body-warm leather of the couch.

Changbin presses a featherlight kiss to Jeongin’s collarbone and then fucks him in earnest.

Whatever courtesy he moved with earlier, whatever caution he used to hold himself back before, it’s gone now. 

He fucks hard. Fast. His desperate thrusts make his hips slap loudly against Jeongin’s ass, echoing through the room and cutting through the music in an off-beat rhythm.

Jeongin feels frayed. Undone. He’s already cum and the tingles of his orgasm have absolutely abandoned him. The pleasure is long gone, leaving him to the full brunt of Changbin’s dick pounding into him. Fucking him deep. Stretching him wide. Jeongin gasps and gasps at the sparks of flint off his nerves. At the burn of the wildfire friction as Changbin picks up his pace. 

It hurts. It hurts so good.

And whenever he blinks open his eyes, they are  _ both _ right there, hovering over him. Watching. Cheek to cheek and panting. 

Changbin angles his hips a little differently and puts a supportive hand beneath Jeongin’s knee. Either accidentally or on purpose, he slams into Jeongin’s prostate.

It’s a wild feeling. An electric shock. Surprise more than arousal and it makes Jeongin shout. Makes him arch his spine off the couch. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, are you close?”

“Close,” Changbin grunts back, but he fucks with the fervor of a man who can  _ keep going _ .

Jeongin wipes drool off of his chin and shudders as his prostate is grazed again. The pleasure is dry. Hardly enough to get him hard again.

Chan kisses him through it. Steady and anchoring even with the heavy slap of Changbin’s hips threatening to undo him. 

Changbin leans in, too, and kisses at Jeongin’s jaw, at his ear. He runs his fingers through the cooling, tacky cum on Jeongin’s chest, scoops the stuff up into his mouth. Then he pulls on Chan by the hair and Jeongin watches in awe as the two of them make out. Sloppy. Clumsy. Strings of spit and cum drips from their mouths in a deliciously vulgar display.

Changbin chokes on air. His hips stutter. 

He reaches up and wraps his arms around Chan’s neck and moans deeply into his mouth even though it is Jeongin who he cums into. Hot and thick and so so so fucking much. Enough that Jeongin can feel it leak out of his loosened hole even before Changbin draws his hips back and pulls his softening dick out.

Then Changbin leans down and kisses Jeongin on the mouth. Slow. Tired. Spent. Blissed out.

Jeongin tastes something bitter on Changbin’s tongue and he’s not too sure if the taste belongs to Chan or if the cum is his own.

At long last, Changbin pulls away, breathing heavy but smiling like an absolute loon.

Chan settles his weight on the couch and hoists Jeongin’s head up so that he can bring it to rest across his thigh. His dick is half-hard again already. The head is a beautifully irritated red-purple.

“So what do you think,” Changbin asks, slumping against the arm rest.

Jeongin wipes sweat out of his eyes. “I think I need to learn sign language.”

And Chan probably  _ can _ read his lips because he’s the one who chuckles and says, “I’ll teach you.”


End file.
